No One Else Can Find Me
by ericajanebarry
Summary: Companion piece to She Considers; this one Richard's POV. Isobel is a talker and Richard is not, but she makes it work for them.


**A/N: Well, it looks as if Richobel is just flowing out of me now. Companion piece to She Considers; this one Richard's POV. Isobel is a talker and Richard is not, but she makes it work for him.**

 **Musical inspiration herein comes from "Something In The Way She Moves," by James Taylor, which is currently on my YouTube Richobel OST, and "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing" by Robert Robinson, melody composed by John Wyeth.**

 **Please read & review, and for heaven's sake write, ladies! My gratitude for your support knows no end.**

* * *

 _There's something in the way she moves,  
_ _Or looks my way, or calls my name,  
_ _That seems to leave this troubled world behind.  
_ _And if I'm feeling down and blue,  
_ _Or troubled by some foolish game,  
_ _She always seems to make me change my mind._

 _And I feel fine anytime she's around me now,_  
 _She's around me now_  
 _Almost all the time_  
 _And if I'm well you can tell she's been with me now,_  
 _She's been with me now quite a long, long time_  
 _And I feel fine._

 _Every now and then the things I lean on lose their meaning  
_ _And I find myself careening  
_ _Into places where I should not let me go.  
_ _She has the power to go where no one else can find me  
_ _And to silently remind me  
_ _Of the happiness and good times that I know, got to know._

 _It isn't what she's got to say  
But how she thinks and where she's been  
To me, the words are nice, the way they sound  
I like to hear them best that way  
It doesn't much matter what they mean  
'Cause she says them mostly just to calm me down_

 _And I feel fine anytime she's around me now,  
She's around me now  
Almost all the time  
And if I'm well you can tell she's been with me now,  
She's been with me now quite a long, long time  
Yes, and I feel fine._

* * *

I cannot help a weary sigh as I lock my office door. Fifteen-hour workdays and sixty-year-old doctors do not a smooth partnership make. This day was not without its merits: routine visits of newborns thriving under their mothers' care, test results back ruling out cancer, broken bones easily set.

But it had more blessedly wretched moments than good. Sudden death from a massive heart attack of a man I have treated since he was a young boy. He leaves behind a wife and five daughters, all under ten years old. An advisory board meeting in which I was told that my operating budget for the upcoming year will be cut by twenty percent, necessitating elimination of several staff positions when there are already not enough of us to shoulder the workload.

I walk home this evening, taking in large gulps of the cool night air. My stomach rumbles and it occurs to me that breakfast was the last time I ate. But it is not food I need now; not that kind of sustenance. I think of what awaits me and my lips turn up in a smile. I turn the doorknob and step into instant warmth, light and love.

There is music drifting through the house and I fairly run to seek the source of it. And my God, she's there. Seated at the piano, eyes closed, face upturned as she plays. It's her voice, her alto smooth and clear, that does me in.

 _O to grace how great a debtor  
Daily I'm constrained to be!  
Let Thy goodness, like a fetter,  
Bind my wandering heart to Thee.  
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,  
Prone to leave the God I love;  
Here's my heart, O take and seal it_ **,  
** _Seal it for Thy courts above._

I walk to her, placing my hand upon her shoulder gently so as not to startle. "Isobel."

It's all I have to say, and she rises and turns and engulfs me in her arms in one smooth movement. I could fill volumes with my admiration of the way she moves, but right now all I need is this: one arm around my waist while her other hand cards through my hair. Her sweet, soft breath on my lips before she kisses me, full and deep. And those words that belong just to me, whispered in my ear. "I love you, Richard."

She holds me out away from her to look at me and she knows, she knows. Slips her delicate hand into mine and leads me up the stairs. Turns back the bed and undresses me down to my undershorts, then walks away and unbuttons her blouse, lets her skirt pool at her feet until she remains in only her knickers and a soft camisole. My gaze rakes over her appreciatively and she smiles warmly. "Lie down."

I do and I'm in her arms; skin on skin and soft caresses. And then her healing whispers come. It isn't so much what she says - although "I love you" and "I'm proud of you" play on an unending loop in my head at all times - but the fact that she has lived a life, lost great love not once but twice, and still speaks grace to me. Hope, redemption, togetherness.

I listen for as long as she shares, and when she lifts her head from my shoulder to look at me I am smiling. Soft fingertips trace my lips and she smiles back at me. "There you are," she says brightly just before her lips brush mine.


End file.
